Seven
by Scripturiens
Summary: In celebration of Mimatoweek, a collection of short stories. [day 3: it's hard not to stare and he tries, he really does, but she's just so pretty and he doesn't think he's ever seen anything more beautiful than her.]
1. Smoke Break

**day two:** firsts

 **words:** 674

 **characters:** ishida hiroaki, tachikawa mimi, ishida yamato

 **summary:** saying 'i love you' is not something the ishida men do very well.

 **notes:** updating as a short collection to celebrate mimatoweek [for similar posts, search #mimatoweek on tumblr]. dozo!

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 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Digimon or Mimato, but I sure as hell own these stories.

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"He's an idiot," the girl announced as a greeting. He stared straight at her, arching an eyebrow.

"That's my son you're talking about, you know."

But if she heard him, she only sighed, her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowing deeply. Somehow the gesture felt familiar, like something his son would have done very often.

"It's _your_ fault then, for doing such a terrible job raising him."

If she had been any other girl, she would have apologised immediately after making such an affirmation. And if he had been any other man, he would've been offended at such blatant disrespect. But Tachikawa Mimi would not apologise for being honest, and Ishida Hiroaki would not reproach her for it.

"What did he do now?" he sighed, taking a cigarette out of the packet and holding it between his lips to light it. His fingers struggled against the cheap plastic lighter (the kind bought in gas stations and shady 7/11s), but all he managed was a few weak, pathetic sparks. Grunting, he placed it again in his pocket.

Mimi walked closer to the bench where he sat, taking a shiny metal lighter out of her small bag. The flame it offered was blue like his son's eyes, and Hiroaki sighed, lighting his cigarette.

"Thank you," he grumbled. He watched her for a moment, curious at how familiarly she handled it. Mimi only shrugged, unapologetic as ever.

"Yamato forgot it at my place," she explained.

"And you carry it with you?"

"I meant to give it back…"

Hiroaki frowned, exhaling.

"He shouldn't be smoking."

Mimi watched him for a moment, rolling her eyes as she sighed loudly. She didn't say anything, but Hiroaki knew she would eventually. She was Satoe and Keisuke's daughter, undeniably so. Not that he could ever forget, but somehow, today, it felt so important to remember.

"I told him I love him."

The confession tumbled out of her suddenly, without any previous warning. He let out a steady stream of smoke, not needing her to continue to imagine how _that_ had gone. She showed no remorse, and he didn't expect her to. Still, to hear her say it like that, it was _daunting._ He slowly licked his lips, turning to see her with his head cocked to one side. Mimi was a very beautiful girl, with long hair the colour of strawberries dipped in honey and big, shiny eyes that looked like pools of gold. It wasn't hard to see why his sons were so taken with her.

 _At all._

He crossed a leg over the other looking away as he brought his cigarette back to his lips.

"Do you know what he did?"

"I can imagine…"

"He got up and _left_ , without saying a word," Mimi continued, as if she hadn't heard him.

Hiroaki chuckled then, low and deep in his throat. Mimi watched him through narrowly slitted eyes, lips pursed.

"It's not funny," she reproached him, "It was _humilliating."_

"He's a good kid," he said, shrugging. "He's just a little, well … _scared_ of you."

He knew his son, who was so much like him. And he thought he understood Mimi, who was like his Natsuko had once been. Similar, _but at the end…_

The girl sighed once more and he understood that she was unwilling to let his attention drift away from her yet; the idea almost made him smile.

"He's _such_ an idiot," she repeated.

"He'll get over it," Ishida-san said. "He's not such an idiot as to lose _you."_

The girl smiled slowly, the tiniest blush touching her pale cheeks. He felt her head lean against his shoulder, without warning or hesitation, like everything else she did. Hiroaki was startled, but it was only obvious in the heat that rose to his cheeks, the sudden red that touched them.

"I didn't mean that, you know? What I said," he heard, her voice soft, and sweet. "You did a great job."


	2. The Geography of the Human Body

**day three:** sinful sunday

 **words:** 1616

 **characters:** tachikawa mimi, ishida yamato

 **summary:** she is all luxury, and he is a greedy man.

 **warning:** this entry contains very explicit sexual content, and i am almost sorry for posting it here. except, i'm not.

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At first, he stares at her for what feels like an eternity without blinking; his eyes are not yet used to the sight. Of course he has _seen_ her before, countless times. He knows her high, pale breasts, the slender dip of her navel, her long, creamy legs. But as she lies back in the handsome marble tub, thin shoulders shining under the candlelight, he has to stop, take a small breath, remind himself he is still alive. His blue eyes follow the tip of her toes as they come out of the water, her ankle, shin, a whole thigh; they come and go like underwater mountains and when she finally turns to him, he is already half gone.

Her soft, heart-shaped face is framed by a couple of loose curls, the messy bun above her head keeping most of her caramel tresses in check. She stands unabashedly, letting the water drip freely down her every nook and crevice, barely giving him a thought as she reaches a hand out for her towel. It's her smile that prompts him to action, makes him take a step from the doorframe and walk over to hand her a long, silken robe.

"Thank you," Mimi purrs, allowing him to help her into her garment. She ties the knot lazily around her waist; half a breast peeks out but she does not seem to care.

Yamato follows her silently out of the bathroom, only stopping for half a second to go back and blow the candles out. Somehow, in the dark, he can still imagine her luminescent footsteps.

The place, like all of her, is elegant, dripping in luxury. He finds her daintily spread on a low sofa, crimson robe revealing silky legs, and the valley between her breasts where beads of moisture still gather. She holds a glass of champagne between slim fingers, cocking her head to one side as he walks into the living room.

"What took you so long?" she asks, as if she has been waiting for him, and not the other way around. It takes him a moment to answer; his eyes are ravishing her, and she knows it. He doesn't want to tell her about work, and having to come home late, or talk about meeting her father earlier during the day and being invited to a family dinner. Yamato shrugs and finally picks up the other champagne flute, bringing it to his lips.

"You're going to burn us both to the ground."

 _"Drama Yama,"_ she mutters lazily, "You worry too much." But her eyes are shining with affection, and he feels himself relaxing in her presence. He takes another drink, and a third one finishes off his glass. Mimi, downing hers, reaches for the bottle and fills both to the brim, watching him as he sits on the low table, in front of her.

His hand moves automatically to touch her, the combination of cold silk and hot skin is driving his senses crazy. Mimi watches his deft fingers, shivers lightly beneath his touch, rubs her thighs against each other, both eager and coy. Yamato removes his hand, and takes another drink as he stands. He can hear her move behind him, her long gown trailing behind her as she sashays into the other room, searching for another bottle. He hears the soft pop, the liquid slushing, and he picks up a cigarette despite knowing how she feels about him smoking in the apartment, lights it even as he bends down to remove his Italian leather shoes, and black socks. The marble is cold under his feet, sends shivers all through his spine.

The first intake of tobacco revitalizes him, wakes him from some long-lost reverie. He places a palm against the expansive window, exhaling. He can smell her before he can feel her, the strong scent of violets, Amarena cherries, licorice blossoms, and that scent that is _Mimi's_ , and hers alone. One hand brings the champagne to her rose lips, the other wraps around him from behind. He can feel the her breasts against his back and he swallows the wine, the cigarette spending itself in his hand.

"I missed you," she says, and his heart skips a beat because this woman, in all her glory, naked and drunk and heady and _she_ misses _him_ and taking a deep inhale of his cigarette is all he can do not to cry out loud.

Yamato finishes the rest of his drink as her hand drops lower, rests above his belt. He puts down the empty glass, the offending cigarette forgotten inside it. He takes her drink, too, and places it on the table. As Mimi giggles, loosening his tie, he buries his fingers in her hair and lets her curls cascade freely over her shoulder.

"You look stunning tonight," he says in a low voice as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. He is taller than her, but there, standing barefoot and half-naked before him, he feels as though he were the one looking up, always looking up at her. He fingers the hem of her gown delicately, half for the fabric, half for the hidden skin of her chest and as he reaches the deep v where the gown is loosely tied, his smile widens, and he stops as she gasps.

First, he unbuttons his shirt, folding it neatly over the back of the couch. Mimi watches him with interest, the champagne never leaves her hand. She walks towards the bedroom, looks at him over her shoulder.

"Are you coming?"

He looks up.

"I'll be right there," he murmurs, and watches the sway of her hips as she disappears through the door into their master bedroom. He means it—he'll be there, _eventually_. He knows Mimi will wait impatiently for the first few minutes, then she'll take matters into her own hands if he takes too long. Mimi enjoys putting up a show for him, but he doesn't think it'll come to that tonight. So he takes his sweet time drinking his wine, allowing his senses to be only slightly lulled before following her into the bedroom.

Mimi turns to see him and he offers her the kind of secret half-smile she has always loved. His fingers, like long, pale spiders, touch her bony shoulders, brush over her pert breasts, pinching a nipple through her gown. She bites her lip, but is otherwise silent as he continues his way down her sides, toying with the ribbon around her waist, undoing it like the flimsy thing it is. Her skin glistens under the dimmed light, a sheen of glitter that shines like complete galaxies upon her body. He doesn't get to touch the gown again because she takes it off, letting it pool around her ankles as he bends down to kiss her, pushing her slowly into the expansive bed.

He has known this path before, has seen and touched and kissed every inch of her in the past, but it's always half familiar, half a new discovery. His fingers know where to push, prod, pinch—his teeth know when to bite, suck or lick. One hand kneads her left breast, the other one supports his weight above her as he kisses her, hard. Yamato is the first one to break away, blinking slowly as the light dances in his vision, the way it does when closing your eyes after staring straight at the sun. It feels like that sometimes, looking at Mimi. Like she's the sun, too bright, too hot—too far away from his reach.

So thinking about this, he dives in to kiss her even harder, his hand reaching between her legs to part them for him even as she frantically undoes the button in his slacks and pulls him free. The first few seconds there's just electricity, incredible friction, he's harder than he's ever been and she fits him like a glove, pressing around him and pulling him closer, _impossibly close._ Then he pulls out and she gasps, but he is getting rid of his pants now and, with no restriction, swiftly pushes himself into her once more. This time they are not soft, and they are not quiet. Mimi moans and gasps and he grunts occasionally, drawing closer to murmur into her ear all the things he had never imagined he'd say to her, of all people. But she loves it, and he is eager to please.

They spend the rest of the night in and around each other, Mimi kisses every last bit of him, and he worships her as if she holds forgiveness between her legs. At some point they reverse positions and she straddles him, taking complete control and holding his life between her slender fingers. His hands, trembling, line her waist and hold on fast to her hips and go up, squeeze a breast, pulls her closer to capture it between his teeth, taking as much of it as he can into his mouth. He is not careful, not delicate, and she doesn't want him to be. But her hand finds his and she bends closer, bringing him deeper inside her, and Yamato swears he can touch the stars.

"I love you," Mimi whispers, and Yamato stops his thrusting, looks up at her longingly before gasping out, "I love you too," over and over again, like a crescendo.

"I love you," he murmurs again, holding the nape of her neck, pulling her down into a kiss that feels as though it is the end of the world.

 _"My God, I love you,"_ once more, and he swallows that last moan as she comes, like it is water and he is a man drowning.


	3. A Room In Your Heart for Two

**day four:** future

 **words:** 891

 **characters:** tachikawa mimi, ishida yamato, oc

 **summary:** It's hard not to stare and he _tries_ , he really does, but she's just so _pretty_ and he doesn't think he's ever seen anything more beautiful than her.

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It's hard not to stare and he _tries_ , he really does, but she's just so _pretty_ and he doesn't think he's ever seen anything more beautiful than her. Her laughter is a song someone sang to him once, when he was an eleven year-old child and so lost he hadn't even _known_ he wanted to be found. But she found him, and he hasn't let go ever since. The way her hair moves in the breeze seems deliberate, like the wind refuses to mess it up for her, even with soft curls flying around she looks like a princess stepped out of a fairytale and he blushes fiercely at the thought, that a grown man like him is so easily undone by soft waves and laughter that strikes a chord from his childhood.

He looks away, embarrassed. The sun is high on the sky and the children are laughing all around him, playing as though nothing is more important than _here, now, today and each day_. Yamato feels the familiar sting of a careless childhood robbed off him, but it does not last long and soon, he is soothed by the soft touch of her hands on his shoulders. He leans back, reaching without realising, holding hers in his own and turning to lightly kiss her fingers. The way she smiles over her shoulder reminds him of her mother and once again he blushes, wondering when he became like soft clay between her hands.

She hasn't left his sight for a minute, even though she has been running around the entire park the whole time. She's climbing the top of the tree house, sliding down to the green grass, running towards the swing ... she has made a jump (isn't she so graceful?) and sat there, sticking her tongue out and reminding him how young she is, how happy and carefree and _beautiful_ she is. Fair skin, hair the colour of strawberries dipped in honey and eyes of the clearest ocean blue, she is the perfect mixture of them both, like a dream he had woken up to found had turned real.

"Mi-chan," her mother calls out, voice stern. "Be careful!"

Yamato turns to look at her struggling not to roll her eyes at her mother, wondering how a child so tiny could inherit so much of Mimi. But she doesn't listen (like she ever does) and soon, before they know it, she's in the ground. There's a tense moment of silence; Mimi gasped and it only lasts a second but he swears his heart is about to give up on him. Then she wails, and it's as if the sound of her cries has brought him back to life.

"It's alright," he says, turning to his wife with a tight smile. "I'll go."

He's by her side before she knows it and up in his arms within seconds.

"Otou-san," she moans. " _It hurts._ "

"Shh," he murmurs quietly, kissing her hair. He wants to say _don't cry, Minako-chan_ , and _it'll be okay,_ and _daddy's here_ , but all he can think about is how many times she's going to fall and he won't be there to catch her, and how many times she'll drown in tears and he won't be able to make it stop. He turns around, half in a daze and Mimi is looking at him in that way she does sometimes, that tells him she knows what he's feeling, knows it better than he does like she has, always. Her arms extend and Minako reaches out for her, curling into her neck as her mother cooes and coddles her affectionately in a way Yamato has yet to master.

He watches as she cleans up her fresh cut, takes out a kitten-patterned bandaid and places it on her knee. A kiss, some tickles and she's all patched-up, pouting, already reaching out towards the games. Mimi laughs, and he looks at her as the child runs back to her friends, now intent on terrorising Taichi's son as he runs wildly to get away from her.

"Yamato?" she calls him, and her hands touch his cheeks and force him to tear his eyes off his daughter. She's as beautiful as the day he married her, as radiant as the first time he knew he loved her. "Do you need a bandaid, too?"

He scoffs, but the flush is back on his face and she knows she has won. Mimi smirks, reaching on her tiptoes to steal a kiss from her husband. Yamato sighs, leaning down towards her and then wrinkles his nose, dejected.

"I'm going to die young," he states, and there is no humor in his voice, but Mimi laughs anyway, and he knows she thinks he's a little ridiculous but he's also kind of serious, because having a child, despite how wonderful it is, is also the most nerve-wracking, scary, important thing that he has done. And every day he realises how much she needs him, and every day he also realises the thousand ways in which he can never protect her from everything in the world. Mimi has already moved on and he can only look back at Minako, _his_ Minako, and wonder how he could ever create something so tiny and delicate and he knows, as Mimi waves from a distance, that it could have never gone another way.


End file.
